


It takes a Village

by There_Once_Was_A_Girl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After, Babysitting, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Fluff, Healing, Hurt Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9404984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/There_Once_Was_A_Girl/pseuds/There_Once_Was_A_Girl
Summary: John couldn’t take care of Rosie all by himself. He felt like a failure for it, but the fact of the matter was he just couldn’t do it all. He had to work so that he could take care of both of them, and he had so much to deal with between grief and Sherlock. It was all just a disaster. On top of it all he couldn’t find a nanny that he liked and could be there at all the times he needed her to be, sometimes on short notice (thanks to Sherlock). So in the end he had help. Everyone he knew ended up babysitting at some point. Everyone.Otherwise known at the four times people babysat Rosie and the one time it wasn't really babysitting.





	1. Molly

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty fluffy, but also has some everyone dealing with the fallout of Sherlock's going to hell in it. Molly said he was weeks away from death, you don't come back from that fast or easily. So Sherlock is recovering throughout most of this fic. 
> 
> Set after season four episode two. Ignoring episode three because I wrote most of this before then.
> 
> We're starting with Molly.

With Molly it was easy. She volunteered and John trusted her with Rosie automatically. Molly Hooper was a responsible woman. So John didn’t hesitate to drop off Rosie and her diaper bag and head out. What John forgot was that even though Molly was the most normal of his and Sherlock’s friends, she was still not ordinary.

Molly did her best. She had the day off so she took Rosie back to her flat, which... was severely lacking in toys. 

“Now, John says you like it when people read to you, yes?” She asked the infant. Rosie stared up at her obliviously. 

“Right, well… I don’t have any children's books.” She said searching through her shelves for something with pictures. In the end she ended up with Rosie in her lap staring at an anatomy book. She read the descriptions and text to the baby in a dynamic voice. 

“The venous, that’s deoxygenated blood, enters the heart through the superior and inferior Vena Cava.” She said, pointing out the veins in the diagram. “And enters the right atrium. That’s the right upper part of the heart. It’s called an atrium after the latin, like an entry hall.” She explained to Rosie who patted the picture enthusiastically. 

“I know, it’s very exciting.” Molly agreed. She read several more passages to Rosie about the journey of blood through the heart before Rosie started to fuss. 

“Oh sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s alright. What’s wrong?” Molly asked as she cradled the baby. She checked her diaper but it was clean. It was early so Rosie couldn’t possibly be tired.

“You’re hungry then?” Molly asked, standing and carrying Rosie to the kitchen. “Alright dear, let me make you a bottle…” She said then paused. She couldn’t remember how much formula she was supposed to give Rosie. 

“Now, where is my phone so I can call your daddy?” Molly asked mildly. Rosie continued to cry as Molly searched for her phone. She checked everywhere before realizing.

“I left it at the hospital.” She groaned. “I left my phone at the hospital, love.” She told Rosie. Rosie was not amused. Molly sighed and went to her laptop instead.

“That’s okay, we’ll ask the internet how much I’m supposed to give a baby your age.” Molly explained to her crying charge. “And once you’re fed we’ll go and pick up my phone from the morgue. Can’t have your daddy calling me and me not able to answer.” 

Once Rosie had had her bottle she was quiet and happy again. She let Molly buckle her into her harness so they could go. 

With Rosie strapped to her chest and Rosie’s bag slung over her shoulder Molly set out. Her lab just off of the morgue was quiet and calm, seemed removed from the rest of the world, it was part of why Molly liked it. More importantly, it was all hers. Sometimes Sherlock would invade, sometimes other people worked with her, but no one questioned the fact that this was Molly Hooper’s territory. It made her happy just to be there. Rosie, for her part, seemed fascinated by the brightly lit, sterile room. 

“Do you like it?” Molly asked chipperly, spotting her phone on her desk. It was dead so she plugged it into the charger she kept at her desk and decided she might as well show Rosie around.

“This is my lab.” She told her goddaughter. “I figure out what people died from in here. I don’t have any bodies here, and a good thing too I doubt your daddy would approve… although I’m sure Sherlock would.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Sherlock means well Rosie. He really does.” She assured the baby. “You probably don’t even realize how strange he is. He’s nice to you, you’re the only one… well maybe your dad. Sherlock loves your dad. You too. He’ll take some time to get used to you, and I know everyone is busy missing your mum, but they’ll all get better. I promise.” She added, shaking her head. Rosie seemed to sense that she’s sad, or at least was upset by her tone of voice. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s alright.” Molly promised. “Here, let’s look around Auntie Molly’s lab.” She showed Rosie the various different equipment and explained how it all works, what she used it for. Rosie seemed pleased by how excited Molly gets about her lab. She gurgled happily and waves her tiny fists at the lab equipment which Molly kept carefully out of reach. 

“Look, Rosie, it’s a brain.” Molly pointed out, glancing down at the human brain in a bowl of formaldehyde that she had left on her desk. Rosie gurgled and reached for it, seeming unfazed by the strong scent of chemicals. Molly made sure Rosie doesn’t get her hands on anything bad for her but pulled on gloves and picked up the brain so Rosie could see. 

“This is the brain of a Mr. Haverford. He died of a stroke you see.” She explained, pointing to the area of tissue damaged by the stroke. “Well it was two, the first one didn’t kill him, the second one did even though it was much smaller. That’s why everyone was confused you see and why his brain is in a bowl in my lab.” She set the brain down again and threw away her gloves. 

“We should probably go.” She admitted, grabbing her now partially charged phone and heading out. 

“When Daddy asks what we did today we’re not going to tell him about visiting the hospital okay?” She asked when they got back to her flat. Rosie looked up at her with wide watchful eyes, Mary’s eyes. 

“It’ll be our secret.” Molly decided. “You daddy would just worry for no reason. You don’t understand anything anyway. You just get the emotions people put off. It’s okay though, there’s nothing wrong with dead people anyway, some people are just sensitive.” 

When John came to pick Rosie up Molly handed her over with a smile. 

“She was a little angel.” She assured him, grinning at the way Rosie is clearly so excited to see her father. Maybe babies didn’t understand much that was said to them, but Rosie understood who her family was. It was sweet. 

“Thanks so much for looking after her Molly.” John said, relieved. “I’m sorry about the short notice.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Anytime you need help, I’m around.” Molly promised.


	2. Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade looks after Rosie for a day, and contemplates Sherlock Holmes

Molly, while she babysat a lot, couldn’t always be there either. She had a job and a life the same as anyone. Which is why John found himself with nowhere else to turn, standing on the doorstep of one Detective Inspector Lestrade. 

“John, I appreciate the trust here… but I don’t know anything about kids.” Lestrade confessed, looking down at baby Rosie in John’s arms. John sighed. 

“It’s okay, I trust you. You’ll do great. Come on, you dealt with Sherlock even before I did, Rosie is much easier to handle.” He promised. 

“What about Mrs. Hudson?” Lestrade asked hopefully. 

“She’s ill.” John answered. “And Molly is working, she’s got a full day. Sherlock is working a case, and he has an appointment today, which I’m going to have to drag him to, because Mycroft said he’s busy with a matter of national security. And Nanny cancelled because her Mum’s sick, and I have to work, and then wrangle Sherlock.” Lestrade sighed. 

“Right, of course I can look after her for a bit.” He agreed. “But you’ll have to come in and tell me how it’s done.” He added. John came inside with Rosie, her carseat and her diaper bag. He showed Lestrade where everything was stored and how to manage Rosie. 

“She’s really a well-behaved baby, I swear.” John swore. “I really appreciate this Greg.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Lestrade told him, trying to pretend he wasn’t terrified. “How is Sherlock doing, anyway?” He asked curiously. He hadn’t seen a whole lot of Sherlock lately. After the period of time in which they all took turns sitting with him to make sure he was really clean, and a thorough search of the flat, they had allowed him to recover on his own, with occasional, voluntary company. Lestrade had been busy and he had been doing his best not to go to Sherlock with any new cases. John had allowed Sherlock to start working again but only smaller cases that he could work from the flat or with a minimal amount of danger and running. John or Mycroft also dragged Sherlock to the doctor on a regular basis. 

“He’s getting better.” John said, looking down. 

John looked miserable. Lestrade supposed he blamed himself for Sherlock falling off the wagon and going to hell. He couldn’t really find an argument against it except that it was Sherlock’s choice to listen to Mary… but he had done it for John, or because of John. Lestrade still wasn’t sure if Sherlock’s most recent fit of insanity had been because John had cut him off or in accordance to Mary’s orders. He wanted to believe that Sherlock was alright, that he was in control, that it was all purposeful. And maybe, maybe it had started that way, or he used Mary’s video as an excuse, but Greg couldn’t believe that that was all. He knew Sherlock Holmes. He had known him before John did, before Molly did, and he had seen Sherlock go through endless cycles of highs and lows. He had never seen Sherlock higher than that brief period of time when he and John were friends and everything was good. He had never seen Sherlock lower than he had been when he provoked Culverton Smith into attempting to kill him. Shooting Magnussen, that was different, but this… this was a suicide attempt. Suicide by serial killer. It was such a very Sherlock thing to do. It was also terrifying. Greg had known Sherlock a long time, but he had never seen him truly suicidal, self-destructive in every possible way, but he had never made a serious attempt on his life. None of them talked about it, Sherlock’s friends, but they all knew that something different had happened, and they were all shaken by it. 

“I… He scared the hell out of me, John.” Lestrade confessed. John nodded. 

“He scared the hell out of all of us.” He agreed. “I thought we were going to lose him. Even after Culverton confessed I wasn’t sure he’d make it for a while. Molly said he had weeks… and it all would have been my fault.” 

“We didn’t lose him.” Lestrade reminded him. “Sherlock’s okay. He’s getting better. Is he gaining any weight?” 

“Yeah, he is.” John agreed. “Slowly though, his system can’t handle any sort of dramatic changes, so even getting back to feeding him properly is a slow process.” 

“He didn’t want to die.” Lestrade said, because it felt important. “He thought he did, but he didn’t want to die. He never really has. He’s a fighter, John.”

“I know that.” John agreed, chuckling. “You should see him fight me when I try to get him to eat vegetables, it’s worse than dealing with an upset Rosie.” He said lightly. Greg laughed. 

“Well I’m glad you and Mrs. Hudson have that covered. I think I’d rather take the baby any day.” He said. “Now off you go, I’ll look after her.” He said taking Rosie from her father’s arms and bouncing her a little. 

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” John whispered to his daughter, squeezing one of her tiny hands lightly. He looked up at Greg. “Thanks again, I’ll be back at four, yeah?” 

 

“See you then.” Lestrade agreed. Then John left, and it was just Lestrade and Rosie. He stared down at her blankly. He really didn’t know what to do with babies. Sure John had told him what to do if she cried but he hadn’t said what he should do with her in the meantime. When the doorbell rings a while later he gets up to answer it in relief. Sally Donovan was on his doorstep.

“Sally, what’s up?” He asked hurriedly. While a distraction is helpful, he doesn’t want to leave Rosie alone for very long. He’s terrified of somehow accidentally hurting her. If anything happens to that girl while she’s in his care it’s not a question of if someone is going to kill him, it’s a question of whether John, Sherlock, or Mrs. Hudson got to him first. 

“Sorry, I know it’s your day off. But you weren’t answering your mobile, and I thought you’d want the latest on the Thompson case.” She answered, holding up a file. “I brought it.” She added. He grinned. 

“Yeah, definitely, thank you.” He said waving her inside. He returned to his living room and the chair he had been sitting in. “Come in. Sorry I didn’t answer the phone, I was… busy.” He said apologetically. 

“Busy with what?” Sally asked following him into the room. She paused when she saw his set up. He had put Rosie’s seat on a stool in front of his chair. She had a rattle in her hand, but she had mostly just been staring at him, so he had been staring back. Sally looked down at Rosie in surprise.

“Is that a baby?” She asked, then corrected herself. “Whose baby is it? Is that Dr. Watson’s baby?” 

The thing about spending any amount of time with Sherlock, Greg thought to himself, was that he made you smarter. No one could do what he did, no one could be Sherlock but after a while of listening to him you picked up on the way he thought. He called you boring and stupid and made you desperate not to be. Even if it was little changes, thinking for a moment before asking an obvious question. Trying to figure out what was going on on your own. Sherlock would say that it’s a stupid sentiment to say he makes people smarter, but Lestrade knows that he makes people think about things. John was better at it than most, sure it took him longer but in the end he could work out a lot of things. Even Sally, she had never met Rosie Watson, as far as Lestrade knew she had never even seen a picture, but she could figure out whose baby he was watching. Sure he supposed it wasn’t much of a leap of faith, considering that he didn’t have many friends, but it was something other than waiting to be told the answer. 

“Yeah, this is Rosie.” Greg told Sally. “John and Mary’s little girl.” 

“Why’s she with you?” Sally demanded.

“John has work, and his nanny had a family emergency, Molly has work, Mrs. H is sick, so here we are.” Lestrade answered.

“What about Sherlock?” Sally asked, and Greg was pleased to hear her say his name instead of calling him freak. 

“He’s sick.” He answered. “And he has another doctor’s appointment today.” Sally didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“How is he?” She asked, pointedly uninterested. 

“John says he’s getting better, slowly but he is.” Lestrade answered. “I’ll tell him you asked after him.”

“Don’t you dare.” She warned. “Besides, I’m not the one having a staring contest with an infant.” 

“I’m not… we’re not having…” Lestrade stammered. “Didn’t you have a file for me?” He asked instead. 

“Yes, of course.” She agreed. She summarized the case and handed him the file. He nodded.

“Right, I’ll think over that, do some research, but I can’t go much of anywhere until John comes back to collect Rosie.”

“Right. Good luck with… staring down the baby. I’ll be going.” Sally said.

“Thanks.” Greg agreed rolling his eyes. He saw her out before returning to his chair and his file. 

“What does she know?” He asked Rosie. “She’s never been good with kids.” He frowned. 

“I’ve never been particularly good with kids either.” He confessed. She stared at him, unblinking. He stared back. He blinked, she didn’t. 

“Oh god, I am having a staring contest with a baby.” He muttered. “And I’m losing.” He added with a sigh. Rosie smiled at him. 

“I know I’m not John,” Greg said softly. “And I’m not Molly, who I know you love, or Mrs. Hudson who you also love. I’m not Sherlock, who you adore, but Rosie, honey I love you, and I’m going to protect you. I am.” He promised.

When John knocked on the door it woke Greg up from where he was napping on his couch with Rosie on his chest. He did his best to get up without waking her. 

“How’d it go?” John asked. 

“Just fine.” Lestrade answered, smiling. “She’s a sweetheart, John.” He added. After their staring contest Greg had changed and fed Rosie, they had played with a stuffed bear that Greg had found in his closet, part of an old get well basket after he had been injured once. 

“She is.” John agreed.

“How was Sherlock’s appointment?” Lestrade asked. John smiled, and he looked genuinely hopeful. 

“It went well, really really well.” He said. “Sherlock’s gaining weight, his kidneys and liver might actually recover. He’s been getting stronger every day. He managed to stay on his feet for a while today. It all looks promising.”

“That’s fantastic!” Lestrade exclaimed, surprised by the grin on his face and the relief flooding his veins. He knew he cared about Sherlock, but sometimes it still startled him. He got distracted by being irritated by him, and forgot that they were friends, even if Sherlock didn’t know his real name. 

“It really is.” John agreed. “He went to hell it’s true, but he went there from a relatively stable place beforehand. It’s not the same as drug addicts who’ve been at it for years and years and then end up in hospital. He was healthy beforehand so he had more to fight with. He’s going to be okay.” 

“Thank god for that.” Lestrade muttered. “I hate to say it, but I think we would all be lost without that man.” 

“You’re probably right.” John agreed as he gathered up Rosie and her stuff. “Thanks for watching Rosie today.” 

“Anytime.” Lestrade promised. John grinned. 

“I’ll take you up on that.” He warned. 

“I want you to.” Greg told him, waving goodbye to Rosie. As it turned out, he rather liked children, or at least, one particular child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really adore Lestrade and Sherlock's friendship. Thanks for reading! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying this!


	3. Mrs Hudson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Hudson looks after Rosie for a day (Sherlock helps)

Mrs. Hudson babysat for John whenever she could. She adored baby Rosie. Still when John came to drop Rosie off a few days after Lestrade had watched her, Mrs. Hudson having gotten over her cold, she looked upset. She caught at his arm.

“Why don’t you let Sherlock watch her for a bit?” She asked. John sighed. He had just come down from saying hello to Sherlock. 

“I would, I will, but he’s still recovering.” He answered, looking tired. “He’s barely able to take care of himself right now. I know he wants to help, he loves Rosie, but he can’t stay on his feet for too long and he falls over sometimes when he stands up too fast. He needs to focus on healing himself before helping with Rosie.” 

“Well alright.” She agreed grudgingly. “But he is trying you know? Sherlock, he’s trying so hard to get well for you, for Rosie.”

“I know.” John agreed looking down, guilt all over his face. “He’s napping. He willingly went to take a nap in an actual bed. He didn’t fight, or call it pointless… he’s letting us take care of him. Only ever fights the doctor’s appointments. I know he hates this, all of it, and I know he’s feeling better, at least well enough to cause problems, but he’s not fighting all the time.” John answered. Mrs Hudson nodded. 

“Yes well. I’ve got little Rosie, off you pop.” She said. He nodded and headed out. Mrs. Hudson settled her goddaughter in. She didn’t need John to bring toys with him, she had bought toys for Rosie which stayed at 221 Baker street. She had everything she needed. 

“And how are we today Rosie?” She asked, happily, bouncing the little girl a bit. Rosie, ever pleasant little girl she was, gurgled happily at her. 

“We are going to have a lovely day.” Mrs. Hudson told her. 

She played with Rosie, and fed her, changed her, easily. They were reading books when Mrs. Hudson heard the unmistakable sound of her tenant waking up on the floor above. She paused in the middle of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. 

“What do you say we go see Uncle Sherlock?” She asked Rosie. Rosie was all smiles as ever. 

“We’ll bring him a cup of tea, how about that?” Mrs. Hudson asked, getting up and bringing Rosie with her. She put the kettle on with one hand while holding Rosie with her other arm. 

“I’d make you a cuppa as well, but I don’t suppose you can have tea.” She said to Rosie. “I’m pretty sure I saw somewhere that it’s bad for babies. Has caffeine in, doesn’t it?” She mused. Rosie ignored her, choosing to attempt to grab her own feet instead.

“Best not.” Mrs. Hudson concluded. She made Sherlock up a tray with his tea and some biscuits then grabbed Rosie’s rattle, which was her favorite. “Come on, darling, we’ll see how grumpy he is.” She said with a smile, carrying baby and tray up to 221B. She didn’t bother knocking. Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his eyes closed.

“Mrs. Hudson.” He murmured, not opening his eyes. “Hello.” 

“Hello, dear. How are you?” She asked, setting down his tea tray. She didn’t bother trying to sit in the chair across from him. No one sat there. It was John’s chair. It upset Sherlock when anyone but John sat in it. 

“Regretting being awake.” Sherlock answered. 

“Then why did you get up?” She asked. 

“Lestrade has been texting me.” Sherlock said, holding up his phone which buzzed as if on queue. 

“He isn’t bothering you about a case is he?” Mrs Hudson demanded as she pulled a different chair over and sat down. 

“Worse, he’s been checking in on me.” Sherlock said, finally opening his eyes to look down at the text. He noticed Rosie sitting in Mrs Hudson’s lap and his eyes lit up. He set his phone down and held his arms out for the baby. Mrs Hudson turned her over with a smile. 

“Here you are, Rosie.” She said with a smile. “You can sit with your Uncle Sherlock.” She said. 

“I’m not her uncle.” Sherlock said as he held Rosie, positively beaming at the baby. “I am not related to either John or Mary, I don’t see why you insist on calling me her uncle. Uncle Sherlock, Auntie Molly.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Shush you, you’re the people she’s going to grow up with, her father’s closest friends.” Mrs. Hudson scolded. Sherlock’s phone buzzed. He scowled at it, and then turned back to Rosie.

“Well, then can you tell your ‘Uncle’ Greg to leave me alone?” He asked. Mrs. Hudson stared. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sherlock asked her, even though he hadn’t looked at her to see the face she was making.

“You called him Greg. You know his name.” Sherlock looked up at her with a devious smile.

“Of course I know his name.” He said. “I’ve always known his name. Gregory Matthew Lestrade, born the twenty third of October, nineteen sixty-three.” 

“Oh Sherlock, why do you torment him so?” Mrs. Hudson demanded, because of course Sherlock knew, and just pretended not to. 

“Because he knows that I only remember things I think are important. If he realizes I consider him important he’ll be insufferable.” 

“But you do think he’s important.” Mrs. Hudson reminded him.

“He brings me cases.” Sherlock tried, but she just shook her head. 

“He’s your friend.” She said looking pleased. 

“Of course he's my friend, don’t be obtuse.” Sherlock growled.

“Oh, don’t act like it doesn’t matter.” She scolded him. “One of these days you’re going to realize that you are very far from being a sociopath.”

“I’ve been diagnosed.” Sherlock reminded her. 

“You have not!" Mrs Hudson snapped. He raised an eyebrow. "You always tell people to do their research, I did my research. That isn't a diagnoses, and you clearly aren't a sociopath. So where did you even get that from?" 

"Mycroft is more intelligent than psychologists." Sherlock answered, obviously irked at being called out. 

"Yes and I'm sure that he was qualified to make that statement when he was no doubt a child." Mrs Hudson told him, rolling her eyes. "But you just decided that you liked the sound of it and you repeat those words your little shield of “High Functioning sociopath” to get away with things, to avoid addressing your emotions, to get away with not caring about most people. I realize you aren’t normal, Sherlock, everyone knows that. We don’t expect you to have empathy for the rest of the world. But one day you’ll realize that you hurt your friends and yourself with those words. You’re telling them that you don’t care, that you are incapable of caring. And it’s not right, because you are one of the most emotional men I’ve ever met, you just show it differently than everyone else.” 

“I have never told anyone I don’t care.” Sherlock pointed out. “I merely stated that-”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you don’t get your head on straight by the time this baby girl can understand what you say, I’ll kick you out.” Mrs. Hudson declared, standing up. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock demanded instantly, looking afraid. 

“Downstairs to get something for my hip.” She declared. “I’ve been carrying the little one around and now it’s gone all sore.”

“I’m not supposed to be alone with Rosie.” Sherlock insisted. 

“Don’t be silly.” She said heading out. 

“Mrs. Hudson, don’t leave!” That almost sounded like begging.

“She’s a baby not a serial killer, there's nothing to be afraid of Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson chided.

“I’m not supposed to be left with her. John doesn’t trust me enough yet. I can’t go against his wishes on this, I need him to trust me.” Sherlock told her, holding Rosie on the edge of his knees as if to offer her to his landlady.

“Nonsense. John Watson trusts you with his life, and with his daughter’s. He doesn’t want you babysitting Rosie on your own yet because you are not well, he is worried about you, Sherlock. Worried that you’ll go right back to overworking yourself, getting no sleep and eating no food, and that you’ll die. He worries that looking after Rosie would be taxing, and that something could happen to you and no one would be there for Rosie, that’s true. But I will be right downstairs, I will hear the both of you if you need help, which you should not seeing as you are sitting in a chair with no need to get up.”

“I-”

“You stay right there.” Mrs. Hudson ordered before going off to find her ‘herbal soothers.’ 

“Rosie, I’m very sorry about all of this.” Sherlock murmured to the baby. “Your mother was much better at this than your father and I. Your mother told me to save your father, and I did. I saved your dad, for her, for him, and for you. But now I’m not well because of it. I was on so many drugs, Rosie.” He informed her. “See this is when Mrs Hudson and Molly would shush me but they aren’t here.” He said with a grin. It was the first time he had been alone with Rosie in months. Now he could talk about whatever he wanted. 

“Shall I tell you a story?” He asked. She smacked him with her rattle and seemed very happy about it. “You can’t answer, so really by asking I mean I’m going to tell you a story, but people tend to phrase things as questions to babies. I don’t have the slightest clue why.” He paused thinking. 

“Right, so a story. Once upon a time, because stories always start with once upon a time, especially if they never happened.” He added. “Once upon a time there was a pirate…”

Mrs. Hudson stopped on her way back up to the flat and listened as Sherlock told Rosie a story. It was his story, his and John and Mary’s. A story about a doctor, an assassin, and, inexplicably, a pirate. She had missed the beginning but she heard the bit where they lost the assassin and Sherlock informed Rosie that most kid’s stories didn’t include death but that that was absurd and death was an inevitable part of life, and certainly not the worst thing that could happen to a person. She listened as the pirate and the doctor fought and grieved and the pirate did some not so nice things. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t sure when she started crying but she was properly sobbing once the pirate finally got his treasure, a very special golden rose that belonged to the doctor, but the pirate was happy just to see every now and then.

“And I can’t say that they all lived happily ever after, because they didn’t all live, and there’s no such thing as happily ever after anyway.” Sherlock informed Rosie, “But one could say that they had a fighting chance. And that’s not really the end, as I’m sure you realize since my story was a very thinly veiled metaphor for our lives, but we’ve caught up to the present moment, and it’s a story so we will say: The End.” Mrs. Hudson couldn’t decide whether she wanted to hug Sherlock or smack him for telling such a violent story to an infant.

“Do come and get a tissue, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said aloud. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and stormed up the stairs.

“Oh, Sherlock.” She sobbed. He held onto Rosie with one arm and stood carefully to hand her a tissue box. 

“There, look.” He said with a sigh. “You were right.” 

“Right?” She sniffed.

“I do have feelings.” He said, giving her a knowing look. She just cried some more.

“Stop that.” Sherlock said, sounding confused. “Why are you still crying?” 

“Oh, Sherlock.” She sniffled again, but she managed to stop crying. She blew her nose and did her best to pull herself together. 

“Good. I am going to need you to take Rosie. I am not feeling well.” Sherlock told her apologetically. “I should eat something and go back to sleep.” 

“Yes, you should.” Mrs Hudson agreed, taking Rosie from him gently.

“I’ll make sure John brings her back up to say goodbye when he picks her up.” She told him. Sherlock nodded which was as close to a thank you as she was ever going to get. 

Mrs. Hudson followed John up to see Sherlock when he stopped in to check on him after picking up Rosie. Sherlock, as ever, was brighter with John and Rosie in the same room as him. 

“Mrs Hudson said you wanted to say goodbye to Rosie.” John observed, sounding confused. “Is there something going on? Something I should be worried about?”

“Why would there be something going on?” Sherlock asked. “I’ve been stuck in this flat for a lifeage.” 

“It’s just I’m pretty sure the only time you’ve actually said goodbye to me and meant 'goodbye' and not just 'fuck off' was right before you jumped off a roof.” John pointed out.

“Ah, yes… well I was trying to save your life.” Sherlock said. John just looked down at Rosie pointedly. 

“There’s nothing out of the ordinary happening, John. I just wanted to see Rosie again before you took her home.” Sherlock said, with the air of the put upon. John shrugged and handed his daughter to Sherlock.

“He told her a story earlier.” Mrs. Hudson informed John, grinning. 

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock snapped irritably. 

“Really?” John asked amused. “Was it about a murder?”

“No.” Sherlock said, this was not entirely true, there had been a murder, but that wasn’t what the story was about.

“Oh, let me guess, a disembowelment.” John teased. 

“No.” Sherlock protested.

“Well what sort of story was it? A detective story of some sort right?” John asked.

“No, not really.” Sherlock answered. “It was an adventure story, about a pirate.” 

“Yeah?” John asked, going soft with a warm smile. “What happened to the pirate?”

“That’s between Rosie and I.” Sherlock said, and then with a glance added. “And Mrs. Hudson who was eavesdropping.” Mrs. Hudson just shrugged. She didn’t feel in the slightest bit guilty. 

“Well, I’m sure Rosie loved it. I’d love to stay and chat, really but-”

“No, you should get her home.” Sherlock agreed. He hugged Rosie to him one last time and then, to the surprise of everyone present kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, Rosie.” He told her, before handing her back to a very stunned John. Mrs. Hudson guided the doctor down the stairs. 

“Did he just…?” John asked. 

“Yes.” She agreed feeling distinctly victorious. “It’s a new thing he’s trying, it’s called expressing emotions for the people he loves.” 

“Does that mean that’s going to happen more?” John asked, sounding frightened. 

“Hopefully!” Mrs Hudson said with a smile. “Off you go now.” She added ushering him out, since she suspected without encouragement he would just stand in her hallway in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock loves Rosie more than life itself and no one can fucking tell me differently. Also Mrs Hudson is a badass and has no time for Sherlock's shit.
> 
> Edited Sherlock's conversation with Mrs Hudson about being a "high functioning sociopath" so as to be more accurate and had Mrs Hudson call him more properly on his bullshit. That isn't something one can be diagnosed, as Szarka called me out on in the comments. Thank you Szarka!


	4. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft looks after Rosie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie I think this is my favorite chapter. I hope you all enjoy it too!

It was a last resort. Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister. Molly was elbow deep in a corpse. It was a Saturday, John had expected to spend it sitting around 221B with Sherlock taking care of Rosie. That’s all he wanted to do; sit with the two most important people in his life and have a quiet day. However, with a nearly fully back to strength Sherlock around that was a ridiculous expectation. So, of course, Lestrade turned up with an urgent case.

“Oh no, you’re not dragging him out on a case.” John protested. 

“I am fine, John.” Sherlock snapped, springing to his feet. 

“You aren’t going without me.” John said sternly. 

“Fine, come with us.” Lestrade said.

“I thought that was a given.” Sherlock said. 

“We need someone to look after Rosie.” John pointed out. “But we don’t have any other friends.” Lestrade frowned. Sherlock, on the other hand, smiled a smile that meant trouble. 

“Who needs friends? I have family.” He said, looking far too pleased with himself. 

“You can’t be serious.” Lestrade said. 

“He will do it.” Sherlock said confidently. 

“Yeah, but should I trust him with my daughter?” John demanded. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we trust him with our entire country, he can handle a child. Besides I would never suggest letting someone incapable take care of Rosie.” Sherlock objected. “Trust me, he’ll act like it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but he will take good care of her.” 

“You’re probably right.” John muttered, scowling. 

“I’m always right.” Sherlock said, starting to gather up Rosie’s things. John helped him, packing up a bag of toys and books, making sure there was everything necessary in the diaper bag. He saw Sherlock texting so presumably he was taking care of contacting Mycroft. 

“Where should we meet him?” John asked. 

“He’ll be coming out of parliament in a few minutes we can meet him outside the building.” Sherlock said. John sighed but nodded. He put Rosie in her carseat and they set off. Just as Sherlock predicted Mycroft was just exiting the parliament building when they arrived. 

“Sherlock, I said no.” Mycroft said when he saw them.

“Yes I saw, now take Rosie and her things so we can go.” Sherlock said. 

“John, I am working. I cannot ‘babysit’ your daughter.” Mycroft said. He said the word babysit like it was torture. 

“Oh, all you do is paperwork and sit in meetings, you’ll be fine. It’s not like you have a boss to yell at you about bringing her in with you.” Sherlock said. 

“Honestly-” Mycroft started.

“I know you’re a busy man but you’re really the only person we have here and I need Sherlock to help me catch a serial killer before he kills again, and he needs John and we need to go.” Lestrade interrupted, pleading a little.

“Can you not find someone whose job it is to care for children?” Mycroft demanded. “There is more than one nanny in this city, I can find you a number I’m sure.”

“No. I don’t trust anyone I haven’t met and thoroughly checked out with Rosie.” John answered.

“Mycroft a great deal of trust is being placed in you.” Sherlock pointed out. “You know I would die to protect Rosamund, and yet, despite everything I trust you to care for her.” 

“That’s true, why on earth would you trust me?” Mycroft asked. “You hate me.” 

“Only most of the time.” Sherlock said before looping the bag of Rosie’s stuff over Mycroft’s shoulder. 

“I… did you just admit to feeling something for me besides loathing?” Mycroft demanded. 

“Apparently it’s a new thing he’s doing.” John commented, handing Mycroft Rosie in her carseat. “Right, text if you need anything. Thanks for this Mycroft.” He said. 

“See you later!” Sherlock added.

“Sorry about this.” Lestrade said before pulling both of them away. Mycroft stared down at the baby girl in his care and sighed. He climbed into his car.

“To the office.” He told his driver, pulling out his phone. He had research to do on the way there. 

When he got to his office he ate on a small table next to his desk. He settled the carrier on a chair next to his desk facing him, and called his assistant in. 

“If there’s anything on my schedule that I cannot attend to with Rosamund present, cancel it.” He informed her mildly. 

“I could watch her for a time so you could-”

“No, I will attend her personally, she takes priority.” Mycroft responded, as he found Rosie her rattle and handed it to her. 

“Very well, sir.” His assistant agreed, leaving the room. Mycroft looked down at Rosie. 

“Your father and my brother think this is funny.” He informed her. “Me taking care of an infant. But I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable. I also would usually not speak to an infant, since you cannot, of course, understand me. However, I am told that it is good for you, and those who spend time with you say you like it when people speak with you. So here we are.” 

Mycroft did his best to get his work done while still looking after Rosie. He made Anthea change her when she needed changing, but he fed her, and held toys out to her to play with. He spent a good deal of the day working with only one arm as he used the other to hold her. When it came time for his afternoon meeting with the prime minister and other government heads, he put her back in her carseat and headed off, his files in one hand and her in the other. He arrived early so he could situate her in the meeting room, in a chair just beside his. He laid out all the important documents, and then waited. 

“All information exchanged in this room, is classified of course.” Mycroft informed Rosie. “But it matters little to you. I imagine it must be nice not to have secrets, not to have to lie, or carry heavy truths that no one else should ever hear. I hope you live a life like that. I hope you live a safe life, a good life.” He thought about this statement for a while. 

Mycroft Holmes had seen a great deal in his lifetime, including a great many things that someone should never see. This, however, was new. He had never been trusted with a child before. Mycroft did not have friends, and he had very little family, so there was little reason for him to interact with babies. Yet here he was, and John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, two of the most paranoid overprotective humans he knew, had let him take charge of the most important person in their lives. Rosie was helpless, entirely in his care, and entirely unique. The enormity of being trusted with her, of Sherlock trusting him with her when he hadn’t really trusted Mycroft since they were children, struck him rather suddenly. He looked at Rosie who seemed in perfectly good cheer and health, and couldn’t help feeling like she was the most important person in the world. 

“I’m going to protect you.” He told her. Hope was for the powerless, he wouldn’t hope she was safe, he would ensure it. “Rosamund Mary Watson. I am going to make sure you are safe, and healthy.” He promised. He could do very little about happiness, but he could ensure her safety. In response to his solemn oath Rosie threw her rattle at his face. Uncharacteristically, he smiled. He had been informed, by Mrs. Hudson who had babbled at him when he went to speak with Sherlock one day, that this meant that she liked him. He handed the rattle back to her. 

“You’ll want to hang onto that, and do attempt to be quiet.” He told her. He was ready just as the prime minister and his attendants walked in. They all took their seats.

“Mycroft.” The Prime Minister greeted, nodding to him. 

“So, to begin-” Mycroft started, but then realized no one was looking at him.

“I’m sorry, but is that a baby.” 

“How very observant of you, yes.” Mycroft agreed curtly. 

“Why do you have a baby, Mr Holmes?”

“I’m babysitting for a... friend, there was an emergency, so I’m watching her for the day. Don’t worry she’s very well behaved.” Mycroft answered.

“Friend?” Lady Smallwood commented critically. Mycroft glared at her.

“Yes.” He answered sharply. “Now, if we could proceed? Unless you think Rosamund in all her infant deviancy is going to be a security risk?” 

“Of course not.” The prime minister said apologetically. “Rosamund is perfectly welcome. She’s very cute.” 

“I’ll tell her father you said so.” Mycroft said. “Now. Back to national security.” 

He got through the meeting and returned to his office but he couldn’t focus. He felt bad about leaving Rosie to just sit for so long. He paged his assistant in. 

“Anthea, cancel everything else scheduled for the day.” He informed her. “I think I’ll go out.” 

“Yes sir.” She agreed. “You deserve a half day, Sir. When did you last take one?”

“Never.” He answered simply. “No time like the present, as they say.” He added, then gathered up Rosie and her things and left his office. He stored her things in his car, keeping only the smaller diaper bag and Rosie in her harness, over which he put his suit carefully. 

“I wouldn’t get anything done right if I was distracted.” He told Rosie. He walked with her, with no real destination in mind. He murmured observations and deductions about the people around them to Rosie. He knew it was childish, and so very Sherlock, but he did it anyway. Mycroft normally kept his deductions to himself, having managed to grasp the concept of being polite much better than his younger brother, but he didn’t know what else to say to Rosie. He walked along until he found himself directly outside a toy store. He had undoubtedly subconsciously directed himself there, so he took Rosie inside. 

The store was expansive. He found himself surprised that such little humans could require so much stuff. He walked through the aisles, cataloguing the variety of toys and baby-apparel with vague interest. Rosie seemed unconcerned by most of it, until he found himself in the aisle full of stuffed animals. Rosie brightened up at the sight of a [giant stuffed lion.](https://www.google.com/search?q=giant+stuffed+lion&rlz=1C1CHWA_enUS642US644&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiu0ej3pMPRAhUEExoKHfKJCkgQ_AUICSgC&biw=1280&bih=615#imgrc=Ed5u--HpANafGM%3A) She waved her hand at it eagerly. Mycroft brought her closer to it, so she could grab it. When she touched it her eyes went wide. She grinned, laughed, and grabbed it with both hands. Mycroft pet the thing hesitantly, and was surprised by how soft it was. He glanced at his watch. 

“We should go, Rosamund.” Mycroft informed her. He gently removed her hands from the lion, she whimpered. When he turned to leave she burst into tears. Alarmed he returned to the side of the lion. As soon as she buried her hands in it’s mane she stopped crying. Mycroft looked down at her. Then at his watch again. He sighed, pulled his phone out and called for his car to pick them up outside the store. Then, he picked up the lion, and carried it to the check-out counter. The stuffed beast was several times larger than Rosie herself, she could probably use it as a chair. 

“Aww your daughter is so cute.” The girl behind the counter cooed. Mycroft just smiled at her to avoid having to explain. The lion cost an absurd amount of money but it wasn’t like Mycroft lacked money. He bought in and carried it and Rosie out of the store. She kept at least one hand tight around the lion at all times. He found his car waiting for him outside. His driver gave him an odd look but he ignored him. 

“Take me to Baker Street.” Mycroft instructed once Rosie was safely strapped into her carseat and he was free of her harness and safely seated, the lion sitting between them. He took her back to Baker Street and carried her stuff inside. He had had a key made for the place as soon as Sherlock had moved in. 

Sherlock and John were still out so Mycroft simply brought Rosie and her things upstairs to watch her. He had decided it would be best for him to wait at Baker Street, it would undoubtedly be the first place John and Sherlock returned to. He nestled her lion around Rosie and read her stories. She cried, so he changed her. It got later, so he fed her, put her in her pajamas. Which he found ridiculous since nearly all onesies are the same, but he did it all the same. She was obviously tired, but there was no crib at Baker Street for her to sleep in. He frowned but eventually just sat down in his brother’s chair and held her cradled against his chest. She fell asleep quickly, and started drooling on his tie. He was surprised to find that he didn’t much mind. She was just so very innocent. She wasn’t intelligent but when your age was measured in months rather than years, and you couldn’t yet speak, he found it didn’t bother him. Besides, perhaps she had inherited her mother’s intelligence. He couldn’t know yet, and it didn’t much matter. 

“Goodnight, Rosamund.” He said softly. He pulled his phone out with his free hand and looked through work documents. 

Sherlock and John came back at nearly three in the morning. Rosie had woken up and needed changed once. Mycroft had changed her, used the opportunity to stretch his legs, and then reclined on the couch. He hated doing it, he did not trust Sherlock's furniture but even Mycroft got tired. So he had rested Rosie on his chest and let himself rest. He did not sleep, but he stopped working. 

When they came in Sherlock was still wide eyed, clearly pleased to have solved a case, but he wasn’t moving particularly fast. The day must have still taken a lot out of him. He wasn't back to a hundred percent yet. Mycroft made a note to check in with John privately later so he could ask how Sherlock had done. John himself looked tired but pleased. He had needed this. Though he would argue that his daughter and his work was all he needed in life, he needed excitement, danger, he needed Sherlock dragging him around the city. When they spotted Mycroft lying on Sherlock’s couch John looked surprised, Sherlock looked pleased. 

“I do not have a key to your home, John, and I assumed you would return here.” Mycroft said softly, not moving so as not to disturb the baby drooling on his chest. 

“You aren’t supposed to have a key here either.” Sherlock pointed out. 

“You’ve never attempted to prevent me from having it.” Mycroft answered. 

“How is Rosie?” John asked. 

“She has been excellent all day. I’ve fed her, and changed her appropriately. She met the Prime Minister. He said she was very beautiful.” 

“Mycroft, really?” John demanded. 

“I told you I had work to do.” Mycroft reminded him. “She sat through a few meetings with me, but worry not I took the afternoon off.”

“You took her to a toy store Mycroft?” Sherlock demanded, and John didn’t question where that deduction came from as Sherlock is holding up Rosie’s new stuffed lion. 

“Good lord.” John muttered. “Mycroft, you really didn’t have to get her anything, that must have cost a ridiculous amount.”

“She likes it.” Mycroft answered. “Once she’d touched it she wouldn’t let go without crying. It was simply the easiest thing to do.” He said. Both John and Sherlock gave him skeptical looks. Mycroft sighed and sat up carefully, holding Rosie in place so she kept sleeping. 

“I enjoy Rosie’s company and the lion made her happy.” Mycroft said. He refused to believe that it was said defensively. 

“It’s cute, Mycroft.” John told him. “Thank you.” 

“You are welcome.” Mycroft answered. “Take Rosamund. I should go. I have a great deal of work to catch up on tomorrow.” He instructed, gently handing Rosie to John. She whimpered a little but didn’t wake up. John took her with a smile. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” John cooed. “ Thank you, Mycroft, really.” He added. 

“Yes, well I enjoyed it more than I expected. If given proper warning I would do it again.” 

“Really?” John asked, surprised. “Well, okay. Of course, I’m sure I’ll need help again. I’ll call you.” Mycroft nodded before leaving the building. 

 

“Did you plot this somehow?” John demanded of Sherlock. 

“Mycroft doesn’t like the company of people, but he likes company. He does not like it when people speak to him. He likes feeling important. Taking care of a child seemed to be something he would excel at, with the exception of the mess. More importantly… Mycroft cares about me, and you by extension. However, he doesn’t believe that I trust him, because I have placed very little trust in him in the past. This was a way of sending a subtle message.” 

“You used my daughter as a way to tell your brother that you love him?” John asked, chuckling and shaking his head. Sherlock just frowned at the floor. “You know you could always say, ‘Hey, Mycroft, I know we’ve had our differences but you’re my brother and I care about you.’ It wouldn’t kill anyone.” 

“Oh John, you should know by now, that’s not our style.” Sherlock answered. 

“Yes. I’m well aware.” John agreed rolling his eyes. He looked down at Rosie. “I should take her home.” He muttered. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the middle of the night. Stay here.” Sherlock told him. 

“Rosie’s crib is at home.” John reminded Sherlock. 

“Rosie doesn’t move much in her sleep. She won’t roll off of a bed. Just put her on the mattress next to you. Your bed is still in your room.” Sherlock said. “I don’t see why you insist on keeping your flat. It’s expensive, it’s not to your taste, and it reminds you of her…” 

“Are you asking me to move back in with you?” John asked. Sherlock met his eyes.

“I would ensure that I kept all experiments safe and far away from Rosie.” He promised. John glanced around the familiar flat. It had been cleaner in the past weeks since Sherlock had gotten clean. Nothing biohazardous was sitting in the fridge last he checked. Sherlock had been cleaning, just to show that he could. John wondered how long Sherlock had been planning to ask him to come back, to come home. 

“Okay.” John agreed. Perhaps it should have taken a lot of thought, but in the end, Baker Street was home. He needed this. He needed this stupid mess of a flat with the spray painted, shot up wall, and the mantel falling to pieces, and Mrs. Hudson always downstairs, and Sherlock sitting in the chair across from him. 

“Really?” Sherlock asked, seeming surprised. He had obviously expected to have to spend more time convincing John.

“Yes, really. It won’t happen immediately or anything, but once I’ve got everything sorted at my old place, I’ll move back in.” John agreed. “Now can we go to sleep, Sherlock? Your legs are shaking, and I’m not much better off.” He pointed out. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed softly. He was smiling in a softer way than John was used to. He didn’t have the time or brainpower to analyze it at the moment so instead he carried Rosie into his old room which was empty except for the bed, and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so in my personal opinion Mycroft loves small children, they're so very malleable and changeable, not as boring as most humans. Also Lestrade loves kids, as he has found out recently... I'm not saying that the two of them would ever get together and adopt children... I'm just pointing out that if that was my headcanon for what happens after this fic they would do a really good job and no one would expect them to be great dads but they would be the best fucking dads....


	5. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not babysitting if it's your child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm a day late guys! I wanted to get this out yesterday but it wasn't done, college gets in the way of everything. Anyway, I love y'all for reading and commenting on this fic I really enjoyed sharing it with you. 
> 
> A brief interruption addressed only to my sister: EMIKO! The fic becomes John/Sherlock after this point. Feel free to stop reading here and now. If you're going to judge me for writing shippy things don't go past this point. If you want to read the end of the fic, you must accept my headcanons and you cannot give me shit. 
> 
> Sorry to the rest of you, I wrote this for my sister who is not really a proper fangirl and doesn't go in for shipping things that aren't explicitly canon.

“Thank you.” At first John didn’t look up from his chair. He and Sherlock were sitting in their respective chairs and Rosie was sitting on the rug between them playing with her blocks. It was a normal scene for them these days. Sherlock was back to full strength, as healthy as he has ever been. Actually, he was probably healthier than usual. He had been eating consistently, sleeping more regularly than he probably ever had before. They had started taking cases again. John only worked them with Sherlock sometimes, but it was still good. 

John was used to Sherlock talking to Rosie. He always spoke to her like she was an adult who could understand him like anyone else. He explained his logic to her. The only difference between the way he spoke to Rosie and everyone else was that he was kinder to Rosie. So hearing the words ‘Thank you’ John assumed that Sherlock was speaking to Rosie as she handed him a toy or something. 

“John?” Sherlock asked softly. John looked up from his paper to see Rosie playing happily with her blocks, and her lion, which she never let out of her sight, and Sherlock staring at him. 

“I’m sorry? Are you thanking me?” He asked, confused. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. 

“What for?” John asked, this was new. So much had changed in their lives, Sherlock had changed and so had John. It meant dealing with an endless series of new occurrences.

“You came back to save my life. You took care of me. It occurred to me that I had never thanked you.”

“I barely got there in time, and only because I watched Mary’s video, I didn’t… I wasn’t… you risked your damn life for me and I wasn’t as good as you or Mary believed. Least I could do was make sure you didn’t die.” John stammered.

“No, you did come. No matter the circumstance, you did. And the least you could have done was throw me to my brother’s mercy to care for me and never let me near you or your daughter again. You would have been well within your rights to do so. I wasn’t sure that you wouldn’t.” Sherlock answered.

“Did you know you wouldn’t die?” John asked. Sherlock frowned, obviously bothered by the question. John sighed. “I’m sorry, I mean were you confident that you would survive everything? The drugs, the serial killer, all of it?” 

“No. There was a distinct possibility that I would have died. You saved my life. That is why I thanked you.” Sherlock answered as if he was talking about a case. 

“Then why Sherlock? Why would you risk it?!” John demanded. 

“Because Mary asked me to. I owe her my life, after all. And because the alternative was worse.” 

“Living?” John asked, almost as a joke. Except it isn’t a joke. He needs to know. He needs to know that Sherlock wants to live. John has attached too much to this man to see him suicidal (again). Sherlock stared at his hands for a moment. John watched as his gaze shifted to Rosie. Then just as John became convinced that Sherlock wasn’t going to answer he looked up, blue eyes clear and piercing. 

“Living without you.” He answered simply. John’s mind goes blank. That hadn’t been what he expected. Sherlock appeared to be waiting for a response and then clearly noticed John is at a loss. He sighed his usual, ‘you’re so slow’ sigh. 

“I have again and again done everything I can to keep you safe and in my life. I realize that I do not express emotions in the typical fashion, however, I believe I have made it more than abundantly clear that you are the most important thing in my life… with the possible exception of Rosie.” Sherlock explained. When John still didn’t respond he nearly smiled. “I love you John. I thought you knew, but Mrs. Hudson pointed out that perhaps I ought to inform you explicitly.” 

“I… Sherlock, what the hell?!” John stammered. 

“Don’t pretend that it wasn’t obvious.” Sherlock chided. 

“What EXACTLY do you mean by it though?” John demanded because this was important. He couldn’t take a chance on this, couldn’t risk upsetting the careful balance they had formed unless he was sure. 

“What people generally mean when they say I love you to someone they wish as a romantic partner I would imagine.” Sherlock answered. “I cannot, despite my great intellect, read the minds of others. I believe I generally feel things in a different way from most people, but I understand some emotions nevertheless.” He acted like this wasn’t huge, wasn’t a world changing declaration, but John could see the spark of fear in his eyes. 

“As in you’re in love with me?” John asked one more time because he’s having difficulty coping. 

“Yes, John. I understand if my feelings are not reciprocated, and you shall always be my friend, but I am, as a matter of fact, in love with you.”

“Christ, Sherlock…” John spluttered. “I…”

“It is a statement that doesn’t require a response.” Sherlock pointed out. “Your wife just died, it’s insensitive of me to even bring it up. I just felt that I should be honest.” Of course he would choose this moment to be kind, to make it impossible for John to lie to himself anymore, to lie to Sherlock anymore. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go back for you immediately.” John said, and Sherlock looked confused, like he was about to interrupt so John shook his head. “No, just. I’m sorry I blamed you for Mary’s death when it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for keeping you away from Rosie, I know it felt like I was punishing you but I wasn’t. I wasn’t I was punishing myself. You thanked me like it was a gift that I took care of you, but it wasn’t. Of course I did everything I could to save your life Sherlock, of course I took care of you. I always will, it’s what you do for people you care about, people you love. It’s selfish me taking care of you, because I love you and I don’t exist properly without you, we’ve seen the evidence… I’ve loved you for years, you bastard, years and years since we first met probably. I didn’t know it then, didn’t admit it until you died, and then buried it even further down because it hurt too much.” He let the words pour out. He had to, if he kept it in any longer it would destroy him, both of them. 

“Mary?” Sherlock asked sounding confused. It took that moment for John to realize that Sherlock hadn’t known. Sherlock Holmes master of deduction, the man who had taken one look at him and known everything about him, hadn’t realized that John was in love with him. 

“I loved my wife, don’t get me wrong. I loved Mary, I still do, I will forever. I don’t love you any more or less than her, or her any more or less than you… But Sherlock, I do love you, I will always love you.” 

“You spent months denying being gay, because everyone accused you of being in love with me.” Sherlock pointed out, still in shock. 

“I was in denial. It’s easy when you’re attracted to both men and women to say ‘No, I’m not gay, I’m attracted to women.’ It takes a while to get past the internalized homophobia.” John pointed out.

“Does it?” Sherlock asked, smirking. He had regained his normal tone. He was teasing. It was so very Sherlock, setting himself apart from “normal people” and provoking John. John rolled his eyes and stood up. 

“Come here, you ass.” He ordered. Sherlock stood up to meet him. He only hesitated for a moment before leaning down to kiss John. John was surprised by how gentle Sherlock was. It only lasted a moment, John couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms tight around Sherlock and pulling him into a deeper kiss. Sherlock met him with a ferocity and eagerness, that he had obviously been holding back. 

It wasn’t perfect, no first kiss was. It didn’t change the world, or everything between them. It felt like ‘finally’ and ‘I love you’ and a promise of a million more kisses. John knew in a way that didn’t require questioning, or promises that this was it. This was what they would be for as long as they were both alive. Rosie, ignored for too long, whacked both of them around the ankles with one of her blocks. John and Sherlock both laughed, letting go of each other in order to pay attention to her. The perfect thing was that Sherlock would always prioritize Rosie in the same way John did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We should get married.” Sherlock, lying next to John, said the words plainly, as if they were no big deal.

“Sherlock, what the hell?” John asked. He didn’t have it in him to be angry or upset, not when he was curled up against Sherlock’s bare chest in their bed. The most he could manage was nonplussed. They had only been together, properly together, for a month. It had been one of the best months of John’s life. They hadn’t told anyone about them. Presumably Mycroft knew but he hadn’t mentioned it. 

“I have no connection to Rosie, no official one. She needs two parents John. We live a hectic and often dangerous lifestyle. If something happens to one of us, or worse, Rosie, each of us needs to have the legal rights to have full access to the other, and to Rosie.” Sherlock explained. 

“Always practical, Sherlock.” John said, grimacing. “Very romantic.” 

“What?” Sherlock asked, confused, looking at John and blinking rapidly. “Oh- Oh! I didn’t mean- John you know I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you and I never will. This, our relationship, is forever. We both know that, I’ve seen it on you. I proposed this as a practical step, yes, but only because the emotional commitment is already present.”

“You still haven’t asked.” John pointed out. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Then to John’s surprise he shifted away from him, turning to his bedside table. “Sherlock, I wasn’t saying no-” John started, worried he had somehow upset Sherlock. Sherlock just turned back to him and against all logic, he had a small box in his hand. He handed it to John awkwardly. John opened the box to find a simple dark silver band. It was all harsh lines, a contrast to the warm gold band he wore on a chain around his neck. 

“It’s titanium, should hold up against rough treatment and be light.” Sherlock informed him. John stared. “John Hamish Watson, will you marry me?” Sherlock asked. John kept staring. He couldn’t believe this, Sherlock Holmes proposing, actually proposing to him. 

“This is the part where you answer.” Sherlock prompted and John heard in his voice that despite all his deductions and confidence, Sherlock was nervous. 

“Yes.” John answered at last. “Sorry, yes, of course I’ll marry you. You just surprised me.” 

“I am aware of traditions despite what you think.” Sherlock pointed out. John rolled his eyes and leaned forwards to kiss him. 

“That doesn’t mean you want a big wedding does it?” He teased when he pulled back. Sherlock shook his head.

“I can only name five people I would want present.” He answered. John thought about it. Sherlock was right, sure there were other people they could invite if they wanted it to be an ordeal, but in the end only four people and one very small child, mattered.

“Good.” John agreed. He knew it should probably require more thought than this, deciding to get remarried. He should say no, that it was too soon. Except they had been here, in a committed relationship, for years, even if it wasn’t always a romantic one. John knew what it was to love and live with Sherlock Holmes, and marrying him was the easiest decision he had made in a long time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a small thing, only a legal ceremony really. They didn’t tell their guests what they were coming to, just told Mycroft, Molly, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade to show up. Mycroft arrived in an impeccable suit and simply held out his hands for Rosie. 

“Might I have the honor of holding my soon to be niece?” He requested.

“Of course.” John agreed. He looked down at his daughter. “You want to go to Uncle Mycroft?” He asked, turning so she could see her favorite uncle. She grinned and waved her hands wildly, babbling her best impression of Mycroft’s name which was something close to Ike. She had barely started speaking, her vocabulary limited to Dada, Lolly (Molly), Issus, (Short for Mrs. for Mrs. Hudson), Geg (Greg), Ike, and to Sherlock’s delight Papa, which was what she called him these days. John had started that, in the month and a half since Sherlock had proposed, telling Rosie that Sherlock was going to be her Papa. She picked up quickly.

The wedding was brief, and they had no real reception, everyone just came back to Baker street for a drink to celebrate. John noticed Sherlock glance at the picture of Mary that hung on their wall. It was the only such picture on their otherwise bare wall, an eight by ten photograph of Mary smiling at the Camera on their wedding day. Sherlock had insisted on hanging it, and he often pointed it out to Rosie, telling her about her wonderful Mum. John knew that Sherlock felt guilty for being alive instead of Mary, for marrying her husband, adopting her daughter. He felt as if he had stolen her life in a way. But John knew that Mary would never hold it against Sherlock or John. She knew what they could be together and she didn’t begrudge them the chance. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week after their wedding John left for work, leaving Rosie with Sherlock and Sherlock with strict instructions. 

“No crime scenes, Sherlock.” He ordered. “I don’t care what you work on as long as our daughter is not physically present at a crime scene.”

“Of course.” Sherlock agreed. He had no intention of bringing their daughter into any danger. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was their daughter now. He legally had a daughter. It wasn’t something he ever expected to have, something he had never dreamed of having. He was sitting on the floor with Rosie playing with her when Sally showed up.

“Greg couldn’t have come?” Sherlock asked irritably. Sally Donovan was not his favorite person. 

“He’s busy at the scene, but he sent me to get you.” She answered.

“No.” Sherlock answered. She stared. 

“I’m sorry? It’s a double homicide with no leads.” She said, sounding like Sherlock had just told her the sky was green.

“I cannot come. I have Rosie today.” Sherlock pointed out. 

“You’re not coming to investigate a murder… because you’re babysitting?” She asked. He scowled at her, looking at her for the first time. 

“No.” 

“So you are coming?” She asked.

“No.” He repeated. “I am not babysitting. It isn’t babysitting if it’s your child.” He pointed out. 

“She’s John’s child.” 

“I’m John’s husband.” Sherlock pointed out holding up his left hand which bore a titanium ring to match John’s. “And I legally adopted Rosie.” 

“Seriously? You, a dad?” Sally demanded. Sherlock glared at her, getting to his feet and hoisting Rosie into his arms. 

“Yes, me.” He told her. “I am going to spend the day with my daughter. Now get out of my flat.” He instructed. 

“Papa, papa, papa…” Rosie said, shoving at Sherlock lightly. He realized his grip on her was slightly too tight and loosened it. 

“I’m sorry, Rosie.” He murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair as he watched a very confused Sally Donovan leave his home. As soon as she was gone he skyped Lestrade for the details of the case. He couldn’t take Rosie to the crime scene but there was no reason why he couldn’t still take a look… 

“Let’s solve a crime.” He told his daughter sitting down with her in his lap and his laptop in front of him. She giggled happily. Sherlock was fiercely glad that his daughter was not a normal little girl, because with the people raising her she was never going to have a normal childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! I'll update daily I think, so see you tomorrow!


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